The Professor's Secret: One Mistake

Signed, Sealed, His.

I signed the marriage contract at 6:47 PM.

The pen shook in my hand. The paper was already damp from my palm. Professor Adrian Cole stood by my hostel door, watching. Not blinking.

“Date it,” he said.

I wrote: September 9th.

The day my life ended.

He took the contract, folded it once, and put it in his back pocket. Like it was a receipt. Not my future.

“Pack one bag,” he said. “Essentials only. You’re moving tonight.”

“My aunt—”

“The locks are back on. Eviction cancelled. She gets a new 5-year lease tomorrow. Rent free.”

I stared at him. “You did that in 10 minutes?”

“I told you. I protect what’s mine.”

He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the four pregnancy tests on my desk.

“Is that all of them?” he asked.

I nodded.

He picked up the plastic sticks, dropped them in my waste bin, and tied the bag shut. “We’re leaving.”

I grabbed clothes. Jeans. Two shirts. My textbooks. My passport. Nothing that said Lila lived here. Because after tonight, she didn’t.

The drive to his place was silent. His car smelled like him. Bergamot and bad decisions. Lagos traffic was chaos outside. Inside, it was just his jaw ticking and my hands twisting in my lap.

“Rules,” he said as we hit the bridge to Ikoyi. “One. We are married on paper only. No one at school knows. Two. Separate bedrooms. Separate lives. Three. You attend antenatal at my clinic. Four. You do not speak to press, blogs, or your ex.”

“My ex?”

“Kunle Ojo. He posted about you yesterday.” His eyes flicked to me. “He’s blocked from campus starting tomorrow.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

The car stopped outside a glass tower. Cole Towers. Of course he lived in the building with his name on it.

The penthouse took up the whole top floor. White. Clean. Cold. Like him.

“Your room,” he said, pointing to the first door. “Mine is at the end. Kitchen is stocked. If you’re sick, there’s medication in the bathroom. Approved by my doctor only.”

Approved by his doctor. Not mine. I didn’t have one.

I dropped my bag. “So that’s it? I’m your prisoner?”

“You’re my wife.” He loosened his tie. “On paper. And the mother of my child. That gives you more power than you think, Lila.”

He said my name again. It still hit wrong.

“Don’t call me that here,” I said. “At school I’m Miss Adeyemi. Here I’m… I don’t know.”

“Here you’re safe.” He said it like it was a fact. Not comfort. “Get some sleep. We’ll be at the registry office at 7 AM before my class.”

“Registry office?”

“Legal marriage, Miss Adeyemi. A contract isn’t enough. My father has lawyers. I need witnesses and a certificate.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. A bed that cost more than my tuition. “You’re really doing this. You’re really marrying your student because you don’t want a scandal.”

“I’m marrying you because I don’t lose.” He walked to the door. “Sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

He closed the door behind him.

I didn’t sleep.

At 2:17 AM I was in his bathroom, throwing up into a marble sink. I didn’t make it to the toilet. The nausea came fast, violent. Like my body was rejecting everything.

Him. This house. This baby.

The door opened.

I froze. Mouth full of bile, hands gripping the counter.

Professor Cole stood there in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Hair messy. No glasses. He looked 25, not 32. He looked human.

“How long?” he asked.

I wiped my mouth. “Go away.”

He stepped in. Grabbed a cold washcloth from the rack and turned on the tap. Didn’t ask. Just wet the cloth, wrung it out, and pressed it to the back of my neck.

I flinched.

“Stop moving,” he said. Quiet. Not mean. Just tired. “You’ll choke.”

His hand was steady. His thumb brushed my hair back. For one second, he wasn’t Professor Cole. He was the guy from the club who asked, “Why are you crying in the VIP?”

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded. Hated myself for it.

He handed me a bottle of water. Approved by my doctor label on it. “Small sips. You dehydrate, you hurt the baby.”

The baby. Not my baby. The baby.

“Why do you care?” I whispered. “You said you didn’t want children.”

He capped the water. “I don’t. But it’s here. And I don’t abandon my responsibilities.”

He looked at me. Really looked. For the first time since Silk, he wasn’t angry or blank. He just looked… lost.

“Go to bed, Lila.”

He left. Closed the door.

I slid to the bathroom floor and cried without sound.

7:00 AM. Ikeja Registry Office.

It was fast. Ugly. Two witnesses he paid. A woman who called me “madam” and didn’t smile.

“Do you, Adrian Chukwudi Cole, take Lila Adeyemi to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” No hesitation. Like he was signing a business deal.

“Do you, Lila Adeyemi, take Adrian Cole to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I looked at him. Scar on his jaw. Grey eyes. The man who ruined me and saved me in 48 hours.

“I do.”

The stamp hit the paper.

We were married.

In the car, he handed me a ring. Plain gold band. No diamond. “Wear it at home. Not at school.”

I slipped it on. It was cold.

He drove me straight to school. Parked two blocks away. “You walk from here. We are not seen together.”

I got out. He didn’t say goodbye.

Business Ethics 301. 9:00 AM.

I took my seat in the back. He walked in at 9:00 sharp. Suit. Glasses. Professor Cole again.

He started attendance.

“Akintola.”

“Present.”

“Balogun.”

“Here.”

“Adeyemi. Lila Adeyemi.”

I stood up. “Present.”

He looked right through me. “Sit, Miss Adeyemi. And see me after class. We need to discuss your failing grade.”

My failing grade. I had a 4.8 GPA.

The whole class turned to stare.

Kunle smirked from two rows up. He mouthed: Told you.

Professor Cole’s eyes flicked to Kunle. Then back to me. No expression.

But under the desk, his left hand was clenched into a fist.

So tight his knuckles were white.

The lecture started.

I didn’t hear a word.

Because my phone buzzed in my bag.

Unknown: Pregnancy suits you. But the baby isn’t his. It’s mine. Check your DMs. - K

I opened my DMs.

It was a photo.

From Silk Nightclub. August 15th. 11:43 PM.

Me. Unconscious. Being carried out the back exit.

By Kunle.